


understand the concept of art

by Voidromeda



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Conversations, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: Neo-Tokyo has been having a bit of a graffiti artist problem and Shiro, thankfully, isn't the head of the case. In spite of him having practically nothing to do with the graffiti artist and his illegal street art, he still ends up connected to it anyway thanks to a chance, late-night meeting leading to an awkward encounter the day after.





	understand the concept of art

Neo-Tokyo is at an interesting time if anyone is to ask Shiro, and not a lot of people are willing to ask him anything. The latest system being implemented into day-to-day lives – a system able to tell you what kind of life you are best suited for and what sort of career fits you – has been the topic of news outlets, circlejerk internet groups, and under fire for whether or not it is ethical or unethical to have it in Neo-Tokyo.

A test-run is what the politicians and scientists and engineers behind the system say. Other scientists have been running in circles trying to find benefits that far outweigh the insane amount of cons to the idea, and people are trying to pressure the minds behind the idea to give to them the data that they are using so that everyone is privy to what is going on.

So as it is, not everyone is happy with what the government is trying to put out and people have taken to heated arguments with strawmen and slippery slopes online to try and, poorly, argue why this system is and is not a good idea.

Others… have taken to graffiti.

It has been years since people have last seen graffiti here; way before Shiro has even been born, from what he can tell thanks to his limited research (the officer actually in charge of catching this graffiti artist is having a hard time, so he has been researching on it due to his boredom), and the fact that this is even happening is _tremendous._

Graffiti has been dead for almost fifty years thanks to the fear that the police force has instilled, and now someone is reviving it in protest of the new system. Shiro tries, and fails, to hide a smile as he looks over the photos of fancy, elegant buildings belonging to far too rich CEOs being defaced with stylized kanji and Hangul (surprise on the second one!), artwork of the prime minister standing over bastardized propaganda, and a typical ‘eat the rich, destroy oppressors’ imagery and symbolism floating about.

A lot of it is extremely good and very reminiscent of old Japanese and current day Canadian and U.S graffiti.

To his right, officer Matsuda chews nervously on his pen as he stares over photos – both of the artwork, and on the tiniest glimpses at the perpetrator – and Shiro gingerly puts his own photos down. “You look like you need coffee, Matsuda-san.”

Matsuda’s eyes roll up to look at him, his teeth grinding down on his pen only for him to jerk away when the poor thing finally snaps, and he spits ink all over the desk. “Shit!” he cries out and Shiro just sympathetically pats his back. “I was gonna say no but, shit, man, coffee sounds so good right now.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says while nodding, “let’s get you some coffee so you can stop thinking about the graffiti artist for now. Stressing over this isn’t going to get you anywhere.” Matsuda sniffles, though he doesn’t say anything else and just lets himself be herded by Shiro away from his ruined desk, the both of them getting coffee at three in the morning, and he wants to laugh.

He holds back, however, and watches as Matsuda nearly spills his coffee all over himself and nearly start swearing and losing his temper – seeing the normally gentle Matsuda get angry is something Shiro never wants to witness again, so he instead rubs at his back until the other man is calm and practically passing out before he slips back into his chair and sips his coffee.

“I don’t get why we’re chasing after this kid.” Matsuda says and Shiro stiffens up. “Like, look, this isn’t only the frustration talking, okay? I just… don’t see the point.”

He shifts in his chair, picks up a picture one of the few times the unknown artist’s street art hasn’t been political, and he shrugs. “It doesn’t make Tokyo look clean.” Shiro says and Matsuda sighs, slumps into his chair, and almost slides down to the ground. “I mean, Canada’s nice and all, but Tokyo’s just – it’s nice, new, and _clean._ Graffiti isn’t clean.”

“Graffiti’s got character.” Matsuda gripes out while he fixes himself back up, and Shiro looks off to the side. “But this is also illegal so, I’unno, I just wanna be off this case.” hearing that, Shiro turns his gaze back to him and rests his elbow on his table, his chin sitting on the palm of his hand and he crosses one leg over the other.

“You should go ask Kougami-san for a switch.” Shiro teases and laughs when Matsuda tenses up, looking at him with pure horror, and he waves him off. “Anyway, I’m gonna go home. I’m tired, and I can’t enable your terrible sleeping habits no more.”

He snickers at the disgruntled face Matsuda makes. “You have a way worse sleeping schedule than I do! Go! Go away! I don’t wanna see you, you traitor!” a smile dances on his face and Shiro waves goodbye to him, and Matsuda slams his head down onto the table and passes out in response.

Going back home is meant to be uneventful. Despite how late it is, no one will dare to try and do anything to Shiro – not only because of his height and build, but also because of the many [but not everywhere yet] eyes lining the walls around the police station. Streetlamps hide away secretive, nosy gazes as well, and everyone knows they will be caught _eventually._

Since the agreement with South Korea, the Japanese police force has only gotten better at what they have always been doing. If normal citizens have nothing to fear, then Shiro can just walk on clouds and never plummet. It is one of the few advantages to working such a boring and, at times, quietly heart-breaking job like this.

He swings his earbuds in one hand, looking over texts he has missed from his roommate (who has moved here from America; his Japanese is heavily accented and at times incomprehensible), and he comes to a sudden stop when something rolls over to him and bumps against his foot. Confused, he shines his phone down onto it.

A can of spray paint greets him. His eyes widen. He reaches into his satchel, brings his flashlight out, and clicks it out into the alleyway to his right. A slight, lean figure greets him, wearing leggings and a thick hoodie, a bandana on his face to cover his mouth, and gloves.

Both his hands fly up against the abrupt brightness of his flashlight, one shielding his eyes while the other is gripping onto spray paint, and Shiro feels his heart plummet to his stomach when he drags the light over onto the wall in front of the person.

On the wall, with neon colours dripping down, is an unfinished piece of art that says, _‘the prime minister’s a voyeur’,_ and he looks back at the young man staring at him with big, wide eyes. Shiro takes a step back. The artist tenses up. “I never saw you.” Shiro says and the artist drops his spray paint. “I’m not a cop right now,” he continues saying as he backs away from the alleyway and continues walking back home, “I didn’t see anything. I’m going home.”

He turns his flashlight off but doesn’t put it back into his satchel, his grip tight and trembling around the thing, and Shiro exhales heavily. He didn’t see anything. He doesn’t have to report anything. He is not on this case, he is not a cop right now. He is going home, he is going to be quiet, and he is going to go to sleep.

 

The next day in the station is filled with Matsuda being yelled at for falling asleep at the station _again._ He doesn’t bother paying attention to the fact that Matsuda is being lectured and instead stares at the brand new photos laying on the man’s desk. He gets the information about how these photos have been procured from the secretary; at the six o’clock patrol, an officer passes by an alleyway and sees illegal street art, and immediately goes to report it before then taking pictures of the scene.

He sips his coffee and looks at the familiar and new art that is on display hap-hazardously on the desk, his fingers tapping on his mug while Matsuda gets chewed out by their superior, Kougami-san, and he feels something settle in the pit of his stomach when his co-worker is finally let go and he sits back down at his desk.

It isn’t guilt that swirls around in his stomach, but he makes sure to keep his comment to himself as Matsuda despairs over the fact that the guy has – again – evaded being found, and Shiro holds back his sigh of relief when he realizes that he has been far enough away that the cameras around the police station have not caught him.

“Everything’s a mess.” Matsuda whines from next to him, and Shiro decides to ignore him so that he can, instead, look over paperwork for the next few hours and then go on his patrols to stop minor, pointless crimes in case there are any going on. Reminders dressing themselves up as pointless busywork, but still Shiro takes the opportunity to get out of the station and walk around in Neo-Tokyo’s streets.

He will grab the car later, but for now he needs to stretch his legs and… walk. That is all he needs to do right now: just walk. There are some teenagers nearby the alleyway where he has run into the artist last night, gossiping to themselves about the workers cleaning off the graffiti art, and they go immensely quiet when Shiro stops by to watch the cleaners do their job. He crosses his arms, ignores the way the teenagers stare at him, then shrugs and walks past the group of teens.

Pointedly ignoring the too loud “oh my god,” from the teenagers behind him, Shiro tilts his head back and stares up at the sky, at the soft blue and the lazy clouds being pierced by tall buildings and enlarged egos, and he exhales slowly. He doesn’t doubt that someone has already uploaded pictures of the graffiti art onto some forum online before the cleaners have set to wiping away the anti-government messages, and Shiro adjusts his cap.

When he looks ahead once more, he freezes up.

A familiar set of eyes stare at him, long hair framing his face, and he wears faded blue skinny jeans and a large, loose white shirt this time, and Shiro’s breath stutters. “Hey,” the person says, their voice rough and deep, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, “you remember me, right? I know it was dark, but…”

Shiro swallows. It takes him a few heavy, dragging seconds for him to find his voice, and he clears his throat into his fist. “I – I do remember you. I’m sorry, but I’m on –”

“We should talk, shouldn’t we?” the person stresses, leaning in close as he does, and Shiro flinches at how the shorter man crowds him. “It’s important.” no one else spares a look their way, most of them ducking their head away when they see Shiro, and the man before him stares at him with a scowl and pinched eyebrows, his hands still deep in his pockets.

He hesitates, his hands coming up to play with his cap again, before he sighs and lets his shoulders slump. “Okay,” Shiro says softly, “let’s go. What kind of officer would I be if I didn’t listen to the words of a concerned citizen?” he smiles as he says that, but the artist before him doesn’t return the gesture and instead grabs at his wrist and tugs him away. He stumbles, taken back by the strength in such a lithe form, and he lets himself be dragged away by the man towards what seems to be a coffee shop.

It isn’t any of the big chain ones, so he doesn’t actually recognize the place nor does he know what they serve, but the artist doesn’t seem to care as he drags them away to a corner booth then shoves Shiro down into the seat. “Do you like black coffee?” he asks, and Shiro nods dumbly and watches the man leave  to go order for them both. He takes his hat off and places it down next to him, his uniform inconspicuous enough that people really won’t know he is an officer unless they look for him, and when the artist comes back it is with two black coffees, a Danish, and a neutral expression.

“Name’s Keith.” he says while handing Shiro his coffee and he shifts in his seat, his skin crawling as Keith stares through him. “You’re a cop.” he says after a moment or so of silence and Shiro shushes him. “S’not like anyone’s nearby to hear us.” Keith grumbles out but he does soften his voice a bit when he repeats, “you’re a cop, and you didn’t rat me out.”

He taps on his cup’s sleeve, a tiny bit of steam managing to flow out of the small opening, and he sighs. “I didn’t.” Shiro says. “I’m not on the case, so you’re not my responsibility. I was off-duty, and I had no way of making sure you weren’t armed and you wouldn’t have attacked me if-”

“Bullshit.” Keith cuts through, his voice a hiss, and Shiro tenses up. “You surprised me and could’ve beat my ass with that. Why didn’t you report me?” he is still hissing his words out, his grip on his cup tight enough to nearly cause a spill, and it is when Shiro stares at his hands that Keith relaxes his hold a bit. His shoulders, however, are squared up, and his mouth set into a firm, flat line.

He taps the table, wondering how to answer Keith. He pops the lid of the cup off and tries to busy himself with blowing over his coffee, his gaze pointedly ignoring the sharp, impatient one of Keith’s, and Shiro traces the rim of his cup before sighing.

“… I didn’t want to report you.” Shiro says. “I saw you there and I just – I just thought, I don’t want to report you. I don’t want you to get in trouble. I don’t have a reason for it other than I didn’t want to. Is that all you wanted to ask?”

There is some silence between them. Keith’s expression has smoothed out, looking pensive now, and he looks away from Shiro while he brings his coffee up to sip it. He tamps down the brief moment of horror at the thought that the coffee is still probably scalding hot. Keith doesn’t react in any way, shape, or form to make it seem like the heat is bothering him, and Shiro looks down at his own cup.

“Can I have your number?” is the question that makes Shiro nearly his coffee all over himself, with him barely managing to catch himself in time to _not_ burn himself. “And your name, actually. You didn’t tell me who you were.”

“I’m officer Shirogane.” he says, his gaze lingering on the cap next to him, and Keith snorts. “Everyone calls me Shiro, though. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Keith-san. I don’t think I should be giving you my phone number –”

Keith snaps his fingers right in front of him, interrupting him, and Shiro blinks. “Why not?” Keith asks, his eyebrows rising up, “I’m not gonna do anything to you, Shiro. I’m not gonna rat you to your police friends, because then I’d be ratting myself out. I just want your number.” he reaches into his pocket and drags out his phone – it has a pink cover and a ton of stickers on said cover – and hands it over to Shiro. “Gimme your number.”

“Isn’t this a bit too forward?” he asks, but he takes the phone anyway and punches his full name and number in. He sends himself a text, and reaches down for his phone in his pouch and checks for said text, and he nods. “I don’t know what you’re hoping to get from this.” Shiro says as he hands his phone back, and Keith is quick to snap a picture of him while Shiro is looking at him confused.

“Friendship.” Keith drawls out. “What else do people want when they exchange numbers?” before Shiro can even answer, a lazy smile drags on his face. “Unless you’re thinking of something else, Shirogane-san, which I didn’t expect from a cop like you.” the words are laced with something venomous, and Shiro looks down and covers his face with one hand to hide his blush.

He shakes his head. “No, I just – look, I don’t have a lot of numbers on my phone.” most of his friends are dead thanks to a protest gone awry, though he keeps that to himself while Keith eyes him up and down. “And we didn’t have the best of meetings.”

“No, no we didn’t.” Keith says. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have something nice out of what should have been a terrible thing, does it?” Shiro purses his lips, but he stays quiet. “Besides, you owe me for the coffee now. The coffee that you haven’t drank yet.”

He is right on that, and Shiro bites his lower lip, his mouth twitching into a smile, and he puts the cap back on so that he can finally take a sip of his coffee. The bitterness makes him flinch, as it always does, but the subsequent sips become easier and easier, and Keith continues taking big gulps of his own (large) coffee before setting it down. “Thanks, for the coffee.” he can’t help but smile at Keith, and this time he is given a smile in return.

Shiro looks down, pressing a hand against his mouth to hide his smile, and to hopefully make his blush less obvious. He is so, so dumb. “I’ll see you next time then, Shiro. Don’t die out there.”

“Don’t get caught?” Shiro offers and Keith snorts, a grin on his face. He waves goodbye at Shiro before heading out, then he is left there with his unfinished coffee and a moment of wondering what has just happened. It takes him being contacted by his partner asking him why the patrol car is still at the station for him to finally get up and leave, saying a bold-faced lie about how someone has dragged him aside to give him a ‘big scoop’ on who the graffiti artist is only for it to turn out to be a wild goose chase.

It is the best he can say, and he hopes that he runs into Keith again outside of work hours. That… that would be nice, he thinks.

 

 

 

 

_‘hey, just a question’_

_‘What?’_

_‘how did u know my patrolling hours?’_

_‘I didn’t’_

_‘I was gonna buy something nearby but then I saw you in the window of the station when you passed by and waited for you’_

_‘huh’_

_‘i thought u were a stalker or s/t’_

_‘sry’_

_‘It’s okay.’_

_‘See you next time.’_

**Author's Note:**

> [ Pillowfort. ](https://www.pillowfort.social/transistor) | [ Tumblr. ](https://transistories.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/EmptyHeartLover)
> 
> Author's notes for this fic, if you're interested, are on my Pillowfort.


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